


A Thanksgiving to Remember

by Frea_O



Series: The Greaterverse [4]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Thanksgiving, Carnies, Carny, F/M, Gen, Kidfic, Rave, Romani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Thanksgiving and Sarah is discovering that with the Bartowski family, you'll never look at Thanksgiving the same way again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

**Author's Note:**

> _The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade started off in 1924 as a way for the immigrant owners of Macy’s Department store to show their pride in the American holiday, Thanksgiving. It’s now watched by more than 44 million people every year._

Sarah looked up from finishing off her last report— _finally_ —as Casey stomped in, a large duffel bag over his shoulder and his usual expression in place. Her brow wrinkled. Casey hadn’t made any mention of leaving for the holiday. Quickly, though, she smoothed her face back into an expression that wasn’t so curious.

It didn’t matter. Casey still read her easily. “Just to the gun range,” he said, helping himself to a Pop-Tart. “Not spending this friggin’ day moping around like your boy-toy, Walker. If you need me, I’ll have my cell phone.”

It was a bit unfair to say that Chuck was moping, but Sarah didn’t point that out. In an unusual bout of holiday cheer, she just said, “Have a good time at the range.”

Casey grunted on the way out. She supposed the noise could be considered holiday cheer as well, as it wasn’t one in the registered catalog. When the door closed behind him, Sarah shrugged to herself and swiveled back to face the laptop. It could probably be considered pathetic to be filing reports on Thanksgiving Day, but in her career as a spy, holidays tended to be hit or miss. And paperwork, she thought with a sigh, tended to be permanent.

Chuck wasn’t really moping, was he? She was tempted to check the video feeds and make sure that wasn’t the case, but she’d made a promise that she wouldn’t spy on him more than once a day (and that was to make sure he hadn’t been mysteriously abducted from his house without his watch). And things were actually somewhat okay between them right now, which meant she didn’t want to blow it.

So she resolutely stuck to finishing off the sitrep report on her laptop and when that was finished, powered the computer down. With Chuck not planning to do anything for the holiday, either she or Casey needed to stay around the house just in case. And it looked like Casey had volunteered her for that.

Thanks, Casey. She wondered if it was stretching the rules to go for a run. Lazing around at home for a day didn’t really sit well with her restless side. No wonder Casey had headed to the gun range.

Just as she debated going upstairs and putting on real clothing—sitting around in her pajamas would just make it worse—the doorbell rang. She glanced at the surveillance monitors automatically, frowning. Chuck was standing on the front porch in plaid pajama pants and a T-shirt.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when she opened the door.

He gave her a startled look. “Uh, what?”

“You’re in pajamas. I thought something was wrong.”

“No, no, I’m just lazy.” Chuck shuffled one untied chuck against the doormat and looked sheepish. “I just thought…”

“What?” Sarah asked warily, wondering what on earth problem her erstwhile asset had waiting for her today. It was never what she expected, with him.

Chuck sighed. “I’m really pathetic,” he said. “I’m still in my pajamas and it’s Thanksgiving and I’m going to be even more pathetic here in a second.”

Sarah bit her tongue over the observation that she didn’t have much room to talk, as she’d been filing reports in her own pajamas. Which, she noticed, kind of matched Chuck’s in a goofy way that one of her old partners would have sneered at and called “matchy-matchy.” They had both conceded to the late autumn coolness with plaid pants (though hers were pink and blue; his were just blue) and long-sleeved shirts in shades of blue, another concession on Sarah’s part. She only wore the revealing pajamas when she wanted to screw with Casey’s head.

Chuck, having no idea how to read her thoughts (thank God), barreled onward. “With Morgan stuck doing prep at the Buy More, and Ellie and Awesome gone and Vi…with Vi at Sophie’s, I’m…”

“Bored?” Sarah supplied.

Chuck nodded. “And you said you didn’t have any holiday plans,” he said, sounding hopeful for the first time. “I just thought, since it’s Thanksgiving, we could maybe hang out? I know it kind of violates our little asset-handler thing to hang out on personal time, but…it’s Thanksgiving.”

It would take a woman much stronger than her to kill that hopeful look in its tracks. Sarah pushed the door open a little wider and stepped out of the way for Chuck to come inside. When she still felt a telltale spurt of nerves as Chuck passed her by, she nearly frowned. Violet was out on a yacht, spending the holiday with her mother. There was no reason to be nervous if it was just Chuck.

She was being ridiculous, but that wasn’t unusual lately, unfortunately.

“Not handling the empty nest syndrome well, huh?” she asked, closing the door behind Chuck.

He arrowed in on the coffee pot. “It’s that obvious?” he asked as he collected mugs. “I was trying to hide it and be cool.”

“It’s fine. You’ve already talked to her today?”

“Mind-reader,” Chuck said. Sarah leaned one shoulder against the door jamb between the foyer and the kitchen. “She called me when she woke up. They’re going to watch the parade; Sophie apparently gets satellite out there.”

“It’s nice that Vi gets to see her mom,” Sarah said. And even better, this time, Sarah hadn’t been present for the hand-off. Sophie might not be around much, but Sarah found that lying to Sophie about being Chuck’s girlfriend ten times more awkward than it was with Ellie. Why that was, she had no idea. Sophie wasn’t competition, and the relationship was only a cover. “Is she having a good time?”

“She is. I’m supposed to give you a hug for her, by the way. She was very insistent.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Sarah said. It got a laugh, which made her smile. She took one of the coffee mugs from him and sipped. “What do you want to do, then?”

“I think I’m in trouble if I don’t watch the parade. Have you seen Vi’s disappointed face?” Chuck mimicked the expression with startling accuracy. “She always makes me feel like I’m the kid and she’s the adult when she gets that look going.”

“Guess that means we are watching the parade. It’s been a few years.”

“Has it? I always forget not everybody revolves around a kid schedule. What do you normally do on Thanksgiving? Any crazy Walker family tales?”

None she was willing to share. “Ah, we usually just ate turkey. Way too much turkey. You know how it goes.”

“Right. Yeah. Speaking of eating, have you had breakfast? I can make pancakes. I found this really great recipe online that’s a lot healthier for you than the box mix, and Vi really loves them, so I promised her we’d have them on Thanksgiving, but that was, you know, before Sophie decided to take an interest, and…”

“Pancakes are fine,” Sarah said quickly. “Just, you know, none shaped like mice or anything like that.”

“Not even smiley faces? We could use strawberry halves for the eyes and whipped cream for the mouth.”

“I generally prefer to forget whatever I’m eating has a face.”

“Point. Well, prepare to have the most awesome pancakes of your life anyway, Sarah Walker.”

“Are you sure you should be talking them up that much?” A spirit of fun overtook her, making her speak before she could fully measure the words. “I mean, after all, what happens when they’re not the world’s best pancakes? How will I live with the disappointment?”

“You won’t have to because they _are_.” Chuck began rummaging through the cupboards. It was probably a testament to how many nights he spent at the Spy Casa going over missions with Casey and Sarah that he was able to find everything with relative ease. Or maybe that was just the governmental organization system. “And I will prove it to you. By making them right now.”

“Well, get cracking, I suppose.” She pulled out eggs and other things she thought pancakes might need from the fridge, and, ignoring Casey’s house rules, she hauled herself up so that she was sitting on the island counter. It gave her a good vantage point to watch Chuck. “Are you going to share this recipe when you’re done?”

“If you’re nice and stop doubting me, maybe.” Chuck grinned. “Can we put on the parade?”

“Sure.” She had to stretch to reach the remote, which she had thankfully had beside her while doing paperwork. It took a couple of tries to find the channel, but the smiling veneers of the hosts were gleaming at them before long. “So what’s Vi’s favorite part of the parade?”

“She’s a sucker for the balloons. I think her life goal is to actually be one of the people holding onto the tethers. That or an astronaut.”

“I thought she wanted to dig up dinosaur bones.”

“Oh, that was last week. We watched _Zathura_ before I drove her down to San Diego, and she definitely wants to be an astronaut now.”

“Ah, okay.” She had no idea what _Zathura_ was, but she knew it wasn’t English.

Chuck began combining ingredients into the bowl with only a small explosion of flour. “As for me, I like Snoopy.”

“What?”

“You know how they always have a balloon of Snoopy or Woodstock? I like the Snoopy one, though Woodstock was always my favorite Peanuts character. I liked how his dialogue was always just lines, and when I was a kid, I tried to figure out how that would sound. I never did.”

That was adorable, Sarah thought, but she didn’t say anything.

By the time the commercials cut in, Chuck had the griddle all warmed up and was dropping water droplets on the hot surface just to watch them dance and sizzle. “Vi gets a big kick out of this,” he said, grinning over at her.

Sarah watched the water jump around frenetically. “You really need to get out more.”

Chuck shrugged and turned down the heat on the pan. “The dangers of cooking with a five-year-old around. Oh, hey, look, Yo Gabba Gabba has a float this year.”

“What?” Sarah twisted and frowned a little at the brightly-colored…things overtaking her TV. “What _are_ those?”

“Yo Gabba Gabba,” Chuck said, as though it should be obvious.

Sarah wracked her brain trying to come up with a response to that, but all she could think of was, “Gesundheit.”

Chuck laughed and poured batter on the griddle.

* * *

“This is so lame,” Chuck said an hour later, squirming a little on the couch as he tried to get more comfortable. He’d kicked off his chucks awhile before, and he had his feet draped over the side of the couch, leaning back against the middle with his elbows. It had to hurt his neck like nothing else to watch the TV from that angle, but he hadn’t complained—about neck aches, at least. Everything else appeared to be fair game. “You know, when I was a kid, parade meant a parade. You watched the marching bands for more than thirty seconds. You let them _perform_.”

“Uh-huh,” Sarah said.

“Now it’s all just a song and dance number. Should just call it ‘five-six-seven-eight’ for all they show the long, cold trudge to the Macy’s storefront. Two shots in the last ten minutes! Two! And those were the balloons. They just keep showing these little miniature musicals.” Chuck glared at the TV, where the cast of some musical or other was currently about to start a kick-line on the Macy’s-appointed staging area where, admittedly, most of the broadcast had been focused. “It’s lame.”

Sarah sighed. She didn’t really see what was so interesting in people walking down the street, but it wasn’t worth it to point that out to Chuck.

“Lame,” Chuck said again, and Sarah finally reached for the remote. She hit mute and nearly laughed as Chuck recoiled to give her a scandalized look. “What was _that_ for?”

“You didn’t seem to want to watch the musical. I solved your problem.”

“But they were just getting to the good—I’m being a brat, aren’t I?” Chuck let his head collapse against the couch so that some of his curls brushed the side of her thigh.

“No, no, it’s funny,” Sarah said. “I’ve never met anybody who’s felt this strongly about the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade before.”

“Well, I like to keep things original. Do you want to do something else? We can watch ‘It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ or finally use the excuse that it’s already Thanksgiving to listen to some of that Christmas music we’ve been denying that we like because to do so means acknowledging gross and overt commercialism.”

“You lost me at pumpkin,” Sarah said, blinking at him.

Chuck started laughing. “Not gross and overt commercialism? Had you at hello, lost you at pumpkin. Such is the charm of Chuck Bartowski, I suppose.”

“Such is.” An idea began to take hold. Sarah glanced at the sliding door that led to the backyard, where sunlight warmed the mosaic-style tiles on the floor. The sky was the crystalline blue somewhere between ideal and perfect. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Do you want to go out?”

Chuck stammered something and stared at her. “Like—on a date?”

“No.” But she ruffled his hair anyway. She told herself that it was just good practice for keeping the asset calm, not that his hair was soft and the texture from the curls interesting. “No, like outside. It’s a lovely day. We should be outside, enjoying it.”

“I thought the point of Thanksgiving was to eat too much and then laze about, doing nothing, like the spent gods and goddesses we should be after too much turkey.”

“Well, we had pancakes, not turkey.”

“The point still stands,” Chuck said.

Sarah hopped off the couch and grabbed his upper arm to pull him after her. “C’mon, go home, get dressed. We’re going out.”

“But not on a date.” Chuck slowly climbed off the couch, moving like a geriatric man rather than the young Intersect Sarah knew him to be. He made a point of stretching out both his arms and legs when he stood, his knuckles nearly grazing the ceiling. “I don’t wanna.”

“It’ll be fun,” Sarah said, feeling stubbornness begin to take over. “And I seem to recall that you once offered to show me around L.A. I am cashing that check.”

“You’re just tired of hearing me whine about the parade,” Chuck said. Sarah laughed at that even as she gave him a helpful shove toward the front door. “Meet you back here in a few minutes? If we’re not going to lay around like the spent gods and goddesses we should be, going out would be fine.”

“Yes, perfect,” Sarah said, and pushed him out the front door. She headed upstairs to get ready, oddly excited about this: a whole day with her asset, without her annoying, monosyllabic partner or her asset’s admittedly-bright but still slightly scary five-year-old around. She studied her closet for a full minute, trying to figure out what would be appropriate attire for this. Jeans, that was a given. Things needed to be casual, and she looked great in jeans, but what about the top? She needed something warm enough—it was still late November, even if Southern California was warmer than, say, the deepest recesses of Russia. But vanity demanded something cute, too.

She settled on an aquamarine top and her favorite leather jacket over that. Since Chuck still hadn’t come back a few minutes later, she took the time to pull her hair back into a fishtail braid and was just staring at her necklace collection when the front door opened.

“Just me,” Chuck called up the stairs. “No shooting, stabbing, or blowing me up, please!”

“Maybe next time,” she called back. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I packed a bag and everything.”

Sarah paused as she sat on the foot of her bed to pull on her boots. He hadn’t packed the Dad Bag, had he? They were exploring Los Angeles, not mounting an expedition into the wilds of South America.

Indeed, it was the Dad Bag, which he used to store things like granola bars, Violet’s extra shirts, and various other parenting accessories. It sat on her kitchen counter, almost taunting her, when she trotted down the stairs. Chuck himself was wiping at a missed food spill on the counter.

“I’ve got provisions,” he said in greeting, gesturing at the bag.

“Leave ‘em,” Sarah said, letting impulse take over.

“What?”

“We’ll consider it an adventure. Today, we are not going to eat anything but things we forage for ourselves.”

Chuck gave her a confused look. “In L.A.?”

“Yeah, surely they’ve got restaurants in L.A.” Sarah allowed her smile to color her words and let him know she was teasing. “We’re going to leave the spy stuff, the kid stuff, and all the stuff behind. Let’s go.”

“Okay, okay. Where did this bossy streak come from, just out of curiosity?”

“Why? Don’t like it?”

“No, no, I do.” Chuck grinned as she collected her car keys from the bowl by the front door. “You can boss me around anytime.”

“You say that and yet you won’t stay in the car.”

“Hey, didn’t you say we were leaving the spy stuff back there?” Chuck gestured vaguely at the kitchen as he followed her outside. “That includes all gripes about me not staying in the car.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Sarah said, and led the way to her car.


	2. El Camino Sucio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Mark_ _\- A customer that spends a lot of money trying to win a game. This term was coined because carnies would alert each other to the big spender by marking him some way (usually by patting them on the shoulder with powdered chalk in hand)._

Sarah wasn’t sure what to expect from both Chuck and from Thanksgiving in Los Angeles. She knew most families would be gathering around the table and the football game; if they weren’t inclined to cook, they might hit restaurants, but she had to figure the streets would be mostly empty.

She forgot to factor in the tourists. They came out in droves, making full use of their work-approved time-off to see the famous sites: Grauman’s Chinese Theater, Forest Lawn Cemetery, the Walk of Fame, celebrity mansions, the Universal Walk, the outsides of the studios and other things like that. The crowds were so thick that Chuck and Sarah, driving by the Walk of Fame, took one look at the people and decided to skip that particular bit of L.A. culture.

“I’ve got another place in mind,” Chuck said, and using the GPS and his own memory, steered Sarah off the beaten path. Way off the beaten path. They climbed into the mountains until they were high over Los Angeles. “Here, here’s the parking lot, pull in there.”

There were a few cars in a dusty parking lot off the highway, but it was mostly abandoned. Sarah climbed out of the Porsche and looked around in confusion, her eyes lingering on what appeared to be some kind of donkey cart. There were some buildings in sight a little ways from the sidewalk, covered in equally-dusty adobe tiling and the red-shingled roofs common in the area.

“Where are we?”

“El Camino Sucio,” Chuck said with relish.

Sarah eyed him. “The dirty path?”

“It’s a literal title. This is off the beaten track, of course, but there’s this great arcade up here Morgan and I used to visit all the time in high school.”

Sarah stared at him even as he headed for the sidewalk that wound toward the buildings in the distance. “You brought me to an arcade?”

“Yup.”

“Clearly you know how to treat a woman,” Sarah said before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it—she was puzzled, and she’d worn the cute jacket, damn it. All for an arcade.

“It’s not a date,” Chuck said right as Sarah’s conscience reminded her of the same thing. “Besides, it’s more than just an arcade. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed. I was right about the pancakes, right?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, somewhat begrudgingly. She gave the parking lot, surrounded by desert scrub, a second look, and couldn’t fight the doubt. However, there wasn’t much to do but keep up with Chuck as he ambled toward buildings in the distance. At least the sky was still that impossible blue, and it felt good to be outside.

As they neared the buildings, the adobe brick separated from each other, and Sarah saw hand-painting signs above the front doors: a gift shop, a pottery store, used books, a handful of small-town shops that hadn’t been touched by corporate America. Most of the shops were closed for the holiday.

Chuck ambled past all of these. The sidewalk led right into the woods beyond the shops and became more mud and dirt than concrete. “You really weren’t kidding about off the beaten path,” Sarah said, grateful for once that she had so much experience hiking in her high-heeled boots. The slippery mud made things difficult, but she only had to grab Chuck’s arm once to keep her balance. He didn’t seem to mind. “How’d you find this place?”

“Friend of a friend had a cousin that lives up here or something like that, I think. I don’t remember. It’s right up here, not too far.”

“You’ve got me really, really curious about this,” Sarah said.

“It’s worth it.”

She continued to doubt him until a twist in the path led to the end of the woods and the world spread out in front of them. The view hit like a fist. One second, they were walking through trees, and then they had rounded a corner and there it was: Los Angeles, spread out below them.

El Camino Sucio, Sarah realized, climbed high over L.A., and from the right vantage point, visitors could see for miles. Los Angeles sprawled across the horizon, a living, breathing metropolis that slowly petered off into the Pacific, which perfectly mirrored the bright blue of the sky.

Not a cloud, Sarah thought, in sight.

Chuck didn’t seem to notice the view, as he was too busy grinning at her. “See?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around her arm to pull her closer to the edge of the cliff for a better look. “Wasn’t I right? Totally worth it.”

“Totally,” Sarah said, leaning forward a little to better see the city below them. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is. Makes you want to come up here and just sit and watch, right? Ignoring the fact that we’re so high above Los Angeles, even the air is radioactive, it’s awesome. It’s even spectacular at night, all the lights down there and nobody around…”

Sarah had to blink rapidly to clear the first thought that rose to mind at the idea of being up here, all alone, with only Chuck for company. Thankfully, Chuck had turned his gaze back to the city all around them and probably hadn’t noticed the instinctive twitch.

“And, of course, there’s this great arcade up here,” he said.

Sarah had to laugh. “Of course.”

“Sal’s probably closed it down for the day, which is disappointing, but—do you hear that?”

Sarah went still, the spy mode taking over. Chuck must have good ears, she thought, as it took her a minute to sort what she was hearing from the traffic noises that drifted up to them. She relaxed, but only fractionally. “Is that music?”

“I think so. I definitely heard an accordion. Let’s go check it out…this way, I think.”

“Are you sure we should?”

“Are we adventurers or not?” Chuck took off, walking toward the way he’d pointed. “Adventurers always follow strange music they hear on quests. That’s practically the number one rule of questing, aside from don’t trust ugly old ladies because they’re either out to kill you or they’re secretly non-hags in disguise.”

“Non-hags?”

“Just look at it like this: we’re going this way anyway, the arcade’s back here. Consider it a preemptive strike.”

“Chuck,” Sarah said, laughing, “you’ve already convinced me. Let’s go find this strange folk music.”

“Yeah, it _is_ rather folksy, isn’t it? Intriguing. What do you think? Lonely traveling one-man band, roaming high over Los Angeles, mourning his lost love?”

“I don’t know.”

The path took them through a second patch of forest, this time thinner and much smaller than the first set. The music grew louder with every step, and Chuck’s suggestions as to what it could be from grew more outlandish (“Monkey with a stereo? No? How about two Swedes and a Celt, having a jam session?” “Why Swedes?” “Why a Celt?”).

It was neither a Swede nor a Celt. Instead it was: “Oh, my God,” Chuck whispered to Sarah as they stood at the head of a clearing and looked at the gathering of wagons and people in old rock and roll T-shirts and acid-washed jeans, “carnies!”

“What?” Sarah asked, looking around at the dreadlocked hair and the ear-flapped caps. The group wasn’t overly large—about thirty or forty people all together, ranging from just younger than Violet to older than Beckman—but it made her a bit nervous. Especially since they were just hanging out around a campfire and some grills. A trio with an accordion, a fiddle, and a harmonica were jamming out on the other side of the clearing.

Chuck couldn’t seem to control his glee. “It’s a carnival,” he said. “A carnival of _carnies_ , oh, my God, this is surreal. It’s like Carny-Con.”

“What? Chuck, maybe you think we should—”

It was too late: they’d been spotted. One of the bigger men, nearly as tall as Chuck and at least twice as broad, separated himself from the group and came forward. He wore a Bob Seger shirt with faded blue lettering that matched the ear-flapped cap on his head. His khakis, Sarah determined, hadn’t been washed in the last century, and that was putting it nicely.

Automatically, she tensed, ready to reach for her gun. It had been such a nice holiday, just the two of them enjoying Los Angeles. She really didn’t want this to become a firefight.

But the leader just spread his hands wide in greeting as he approached, a huge smile overtaking his swarthy face. “Visitors! Welcome, welcome! You heard about us on Craigslist, yes?”

Chuck’s glee seemed to spill over until he was all but quivering with excitement. “No, we were just checking the view, and found you guys randomly. Hi! I’m Chuck, this is Sarah.”

“Your wife?” Carny Leader asked, his smile broadening.

They weren’t carnies, Sarah realized, looking around. They were some version of Romani, as far as she could tell. And had he just said—

The blood drained out of her face so fast she could feel it in her toes.

Chuck choked on air. “Ah, no, no, just my—just my girlfriend. Not married.”

It would be a few years, Sarah determined, before her heart started beating normally again. _Awkward_.

“Ah, ah, my mistake. Apologies. I’m Pete. This is my troupe. Come, come in. We love visitors.”

“Not for breakfast, right?” Chuck asked, nerves obviously creeping into his voice. The married crack had apparently gotten to him just as hard as it had hit Sarah.

Thankfully, Pete wasn’t offended. “Not at all. Perhaps for lunch, but not today. We meet here when we can, my three families.”

“Your three—”

“My brother’s family, my family, and the children of my sister, may she rest in peace.” Pete actually snatched off his cap for a second and cast his eyes to the heavens. He smiled as he put the cap back on. “We travel for work and our paths don’t cross often. So today is a celebration!”

“Oh, well, if this is some kind of family reunion, we don’t want to interrupt…”

Their protests, however, were overridden, and overridden with such ease that Sarah began to suspect that Pete, the Carny Leader, was good at quick evaluations and at manipulating people. Those were traits that would make him an admirable spy, but he seemed to be using his powers for good here, thankfully. Chuck and Sarah were welcomed into the group and introduced to so many people that even Sarah’s impeccable memory for faces and names began to blur. Three inter-crossing families of nomads were hard to keep track of on the best of days. Add that these folk were all dressed alike and milling about, dancing in place when their attention wandered and generally moving about like Violet on sugar? Sarah didn’t have a hope in hell of remembering everybody.

“So this is a regular thing when you all get together?” Chuck asked once they’d been settled at one of the picnic tables with Pete and his wife Colleen. “You guys meet up here and…open up all your games?”

“We spend so much time letting others play them that we forget the enjoyment we ourselves get,” Pete said sagely. The wagons all opened from huge doors on the side and featured games that Sarah remembered from the carnivals of her youth, back when Jack Burton saw an easy crowd for the pocket-picking. Some of the troupe were at the tables eating, but for the most part, everybody milled around the various games, cheering each other on.

“I always thought you guys rigged those games.”

“Some of them, certainly,” Pete said, shrugging easily. He was missing one of his incisors, but it didn’t seem to detract from a natural handsomeness that Sarah found a little disturbing, given what he smelled like. “But we also know how to un-rig them if we want to play.”

“Yeah?” Chuck looked about with interest now. When his eyes fell on one of the games, his grin lit up. He turned to Pete.

“Would you like a turn?”

“Really?” Chuck’s eyes lit up.

“Of course. What’s your pleasure?”

“That one,” Chuck said, pointing. Sarah’s eyes narrowed when she followed the line of his finger to one of the booths. “Sarah’s a dead-eye, but I’ve always wondered who’s the better shot. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her to play video games.”

He hadn’t ever tried, to her knowledge. But that was probably for the best, since he’d never succeed. But Sarah in no way, shape, or form wanted to play a carnival game. Her competitive side wouldn’t let her lose, and she didn’t really want to show this group of strangers just how good she was with a gun, even if it was a carnival shotgun.

But Chuck turned that wheedling grin towards her, the one that Violet used when she really wanted something from her father or her aunt and uncle. “What do you say?” he asked. “Head to head battle?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Sarah said. “You go ahead, though.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s no fun without you. Just one round?”

“No way.”

“I’ll spot you a bullet.”

“You’d just lose faster,” Sarah said automatically.

The families gathered around the table immediately broke out into a chorus of “Oh-ohs” and other jeers, chanting for her to prove it. Chuck needed no encouraging to join in, that grin of his flashing, those eyes all but glittering with fun. Which was why Sarah found herself holding a toy rifle in her hand not two minutes later. Chuck stood at the ledge to the game booth beside her, holding the twin to her rifle and eyeing the target.

“What do you say? Five shots? Person that knocks down the most cans wins?”

“You realize you’re bound to lose, right?” Sarah asked. “I mean, I’m well—” She broke off before she could say “experienced,” as she didn’t exactly want to reveal to a group of complete strangers, no matter how good their cooking smelled, that she’d been trained by none other than the CIA itself.

“Well-versed in how to shoot toy guns, I know. We really need to work on your hobbies,” Chuck said, easily picking up the narrative from her. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned back. “I, however, have been playing _Duck Hunt_ for years. I still bet I could beat you.”

“All right, if we’re doing a bet, what are the stakes? What do I get if I win?”

“Loser has to do the breakfast dishes I left in the sink.”

“You’re on,” Sarah said. “You go first.”

Chuck twisted to look at her, giving her that half-exasperated, half-scandalized look she’d seen so many times that day already. “I thought it was ladies first.”

“It is,” Sarah said, donning her best Casey impression for the moment.

Right away, she worried that she’d taken it too far. But a grin just broke out over Chuck’s face. “That’s it,” he said, as she gave him a befuddled look. “We have to get you out more. This is fun!”

He faced the cans, lining up his rifle sight with the carnies cheering him on. They’d all gathered around, Sarah noticed, even the accordion player. Pete and his wife were grinning at them and standing next to them was a gangly boy that could only be Pete’s son from the handsome face and the unwashed khakis. He was smirking.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed fractionally.

Chuck fired: a miss. When he fired again, it clipped the edge of the second can, just hard enough for the can to teeter and fall over. He missed the third, hit the fourth, and repeated the clip with the fifth.

“Hm,” he said, lowering the rifle. “Not all of them, but since I’m not familiar with the rifle, better than I expected. Think you can beat that, Walker?”

Sarah shrugged and lifted the rifle to look down the sight, keeping an eye on Pete’s son out of the corner of her eye. Why was he smirking like that? It was like Casey the first time she’d been stuck watching Violet while he and Chuck went on a mission.

Unless…

Sarah ignored the rifle sight and focused down the barrel. A-ha. It was rigged. She mentally readjusted her thinking and her aim, and fired five times in quick succession.

Four cans went down. The fifth wavered, but stayed. She didn’t want to beat Chuck too badly, after all.

He gave her a mock pout. “Aw! So close,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulder as she lowered the rifle. “Guess we can’t all be Annie Oakley.”

“Who?” Sarah asked, and Chuck laughed.

Pete reached into the booth and pulled out a pink stuffed bunny. “To the victor,” he said, holding it out to Sarah, “go the spoils.”

“No, really, it’s fine, I don’t want to take your things—”

But the carnies wouldn’t hear of it. So soon, Sarah and Chuck were sitting back at the fireside with the rest of the group, who were all trying to talk over each other. Sarah had the stuffed rabbit in her lap.

“So are you going to name him?” Chuck asked.

Sarah eyed the bright pink fur and the white belly. “Him?”

“Oh, you think just because it’s pink, it should be a girl? That’s discriminatory.”

“Shut up,” Sarah said, laughing. “I’m not keeping him—it, so no names will be involved.”

“Aw, but what are you going to do with him, then?”

Sarah grinned. “Maybe I’ll give it to Casey.”

“Please let me be there when you do that, please. I don’t think I’ve experienced the supersonic growling before, and I’ve always had this theory that he can shatter glass by the sheer power of his annoyance alone.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t give it to Casey. Here. You can give it to Violet. She can name it Platypus or whatever.”

“No, no, no,” Chuck said, putting the bunny back on her lap. “You won it, you give it to her yourself.”

Sarah stared at the bunny rabbit. A moment ago it had seemed so innocent, and now it literally caused dread to churn through her. Violet, for reasons she couldn’t determine, seemed to find her to be the neatest person on the planet. Violet adored Casey—Major Casey Sir—but Sarah, she loved. And no matter how many times Sarah tried to emphasize that she was nothing special—for fear that the Intersect project might end or she might get reassigned—Vi staunchly refused to accept anything less. Sarah really didn’t want to encourage things. Chuck, usually the worrier of the two of them, didn’t seem to see the problem at all. But Sarah did. Maybe it was simply that she’d seen the way spies and con-men had to leave suddenly, and the holes they left behind. She didn’t want to leave a huge hole.

But, she thought, staring at the rabbit on her lap, the Bartowskis made that pretty damned difficult.

* * *

By the time they left Pete and his crew behind, they’d had to turn down multiple offers of strange drinks in corked bottles that neither of them trusted, though they hadn’t been able to turn down a meal. So they’d eaten tubers and meat Sarah couldn’t identify with almost complete strangers, and they’d had a great time. The only payment Pete would accept in return was a story.

Chuck’s started with “So I was at the grocery store with my daughter…”

Hers was a tale of Jack Burton evading the police in Minnesota, though she’d changed names. Chuck didn’t even give her that suspicious look he sometimes had whenever he was trying to figure out her past, so she figured that she had done a good job hiding the fact that she was the little girl in the story. Chuck likely thought these were just two suspects she had tracked.

“Wow,” Chuck said when they finally made it back to her car awhile later. “ _That_ was crazy.”

“Very,” she agreed.

“I’m still having a hard time accepting that it happened. Sarah, we ate Thanksgiving dinner with carnies. This is _awesome_.”

Sarah laughed and stared up the engine. “Where to next?”

“Do we have to go home? Now that you’ve convinced me to get out of the house, I don’t really want to go back. It’s kind of quiet.”

“No, we don’t have to go back.” Though she was out of ideas as to what they could do to fill the void Chuck’s five-year-old had apparently left in their lives for the day. She glanced around the dusty parking lot; the other cars must belong to some of the people gathered in the clearing. They all looked like they’d seen a lot of wear. “We could go for a drive. Just, you know, drive around town.”

“Sounds great.” Chuck’s grin flashed. “I don’t think anything we’ll find will top eating Thanksgiving dinner with carnies, but it can’t hurt to look.”


	3. The Running Man and Marilyn Monroe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Marilyn Monroe eloped with Joe DiMaggio at San Francisco City Hall on January 14, 1954. She filed for divorce on grounds of mental cruelty nine months after the wedding._

“Wait, pull over, pull over.” Chuck leaned forward in excitement, practically straining against the seatbelt as he tried to get a better look at whatever was happening on Sarah’s side of the car.

Sarah eyed the throng of people in the warehouse parking lot, but shrugged. None of them look exceedingly dangerous. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, but I just saw a drag queen dressed up as Marilyn Monroe, and that’s more than enough reason to stop.” Chuck pulled off his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. “It just seems like a big gathering of awesome.”

Sarah wasn’t so sure about that; the warehouse looked a bit worn and used, but not quite to the point of breaking down. The parking lot was in better shape than the one up by El Camino Sucio, at least. There were cars of all types—from Mercedes to Gremlins—parked randomly throughout, and a crowd of people in bright clothing gathered by the open double-doors of the warehouse. When she opened her car door, Sarah was assaulted with the far-off thrum of techno music.

“What on earth?” she asked, looking around.

Chuck crouched and picked up a yellow piece of paper floating by. “Wow,” he said, rising to his full height. “It’s a Techno Turkey Day party.”

“What?”

The flyer showed a turkey—in a dress—getting it on while a DJ spun beats a turntable behind it. “TECHNO TURKEY DAY” was scrawled across the top in red letters, followed by the address, and “WE’LL GO UNTIL THE FIRE MARSHAL SHUTS US DOWN.”

“It’s a…Thanksgiving dance party?” Sarah asked, mystified.

Chuck’s grin practically split his face in two. “This day just gets better and better! C’mon, I want to see inside.”

“Are you sure—”

Chuck grabbed her arm once again, giving her no choice but to come along. Some small part of her had to enjoy the irony; after all, Chuck had been the one on their faux-date that had been anti-dance, and now he was hauling her towards a party where there would be nothing _but_ dancing and techno music. Techno music, Sarah noted, that grew louder the nearer they drew to the building.

“Hey there!” Marilyn Monroe—and her prominent Adam’s apple—met them at the door. “Cover?”

Chuck was already digging for his wallet. “How much?”

“Five a piece, twenty if you want the gold bands.” Marilyn held up a handful of gold and silver bracelets.

“What do the gold bands get us?”

“Keg privileges, darling. My, you’re a tall one.”

Marilyn beamed up at Chuck. Sarah didn’t even feel the customary stab of jealousy that had to be suppressed, given the way Chuck was squirming under the drag queen’s appreciative gaze.

She stepped in to save her cover boyfriend. “We’ll take the gold ones.”

“Mm-hmm.” Marilyn gave her the same appreciative look she’d given Chuck, and Sarah had to fight the urge to laugh. “Keg’s in the corner, my man Joe will hook you up.”

“Not in the Miller phase of your life, huh?” Chuck asked, looking at the iconic white dress.

“Arthur’s a fine, a fine writer, but today is all about passion. Y’all enjoy yourselves now.” Marilyn gave them the gold bands and a wink and sent them inside, where the music grew so loud, Sarah could feel her bones vibrate.

“Well, you heard the man—woman—Marilyn!” Chuck had to shout so that she could hear him. “Let’s enjoy ourselves! Drink?”

“Please,” Sarah said. She grabbed Chuck’s hand so they wouldn’t lose each other in the mass of people. It seemed that everybody who wasn’t playing tourist or enjoying turkey had come to the Techno Turkey Day Party, as the warehouse—which looked like it had been more of a storage facility than anything else—was packed to the girders with people, all jumping and writhing to the music. Lawn furniture had been brought in for places to sit, and those were covered with people, too. Usually people sitting in other people’s laps, she noted, and much more than that. They passed quite a few couples well on their way to breaking several public indecency laws. Each time, Chuck coughed into the back of his hand, obviously uncomfortable.

Joe DiMaggio, in a crisp uniform, was indeed manning the kegs in the back corner. Sarah and Chuck were brought up short by one thing, though.

“Is that…” Sarah asked.

“He’s Marilyn’s twin!” Chuck gaped. Indeed, the drag queen and Joe DiMaggio shared the same face, the same eyes, and the same build. “Oh, man, gross.”

“Let’s just get some drinks and pretend we never noticed,” Sarah said.

“For sanity’s sake, at the very least.”

They retrieved drinks from Joe and headed back to the edge of the crowd, where it seemed a little less crazy. A deejay stood on a raised table at the front of the warehouse, massive speakers pumping out sound all around him.

“Man, this is fantastic!” Chuck looked around the warehouse as though he wasn’t positive he was actually there. “I’ve heard about these kinds of events, but I’ve never been able to go to one. Awesome!”

Sarah checked to see if Chuck’s honorary brother-in-law had somehow shown up, but in this case, it appeared to have been an adjective. The deejay changed the song to another one she didn’t recognize, not that that was hard. The tempo and fury on the dance floor adapted to the new beat.

And she was going to get bored quickly if all they did was stand against the wall and get pounded to death by the bass.

“C’mon,” she said, tightening her grip on Chuck’s hand. “Let’s dance!”

“Do we have to?” Chuck yelped and went forward with her. “I am really not a good dancer.”

“Drink that, then,” Sarah said, pointing at his beer. “Might help.”

“Can only dance while intoxicated?” Chuck asked, but he pulled a face and downed the beer. He tossed the cup on the floor, since that seemed to be the resting place for every other cup in the joint. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?”

“Slowly. Driving, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, here goes noth—you promise you won’t pretend you don’t know me?”

Sarah just laughed and danced up against him in reply. After a second, he seemed to shrug to himself, and began to move. He really was kind of awful, Sarah thought, but she’d never admit that to him. He was stiffer than the robots he and Morgan constantly joked about, shuffling from foot to foot. His hips never moved.

“Dude! Dude!” A nearby dancer in a see-through mesh shirt and a fedora danced his way over. “Loosen up a little! You’ll never keep a woman like that with those moves.”

“I think I’ve got it,” Chuck said somewhat testily.

But the dancer, either fueled by alcohol or the music or both, waved both hands at him to tell him to stop dancing. “No, no, like this. Move your body like this!”

And he burst into a sinuous, sexy wriggle that Sarah was sure only about 3% of the population total could reproduce.

Chuck gave him a baleful look. “Sure. Just like that, uh-huh.”

“Sorry, sorry, just messing with you, dude. I’m Vance.”

“Chuck. This is Sarah.”

“First Techno Turkey Day?”

“We spotted it when we were driving by,” Sarah said, leaning around Chuck. “Had to check it out.”

“You picked a good year for it!” Vance hopped around them a bit like a mad sprite. He flicked the rim of his fedora and grinned, showing a gold tooth. “We move around every year, but it’s always a blast. Always great to get a couple of virgins in here.”

“Excuse me?” Sarah asked.

“I think he means that we’re virgins only because we’ve never been to a Techno Turkey Day,” Chuck said as Vance laughed and shimmied away, still moving like he didn’t have an actual bone in his body. “That was weird, right?”

“Definitely weird.”

Chuck grabbed her beer and took a sip, laughing when it was her turn to give him the scandalized look. “What? The man said dance. We both know that I can’t do that remotely sober.”

“You seem to be doing all right,” Sarah said, and grabbed his hips to point him towards her. It was hard to tell since the lights in the warehouse weren’t the greatest, but he might have blushed that. “It’s not difficult, I promise.”

“You seem to have more faith in my dancing skills than I do,” Chuck said, frowning a little.

“I do not. I bet you’re a great dancer.”

“Yeah, right.” Chuck gave her a sour look. “The people who aren’t dancing impaired always say that and it’s always lies. I have a rhythmic disorder of some type. It’s bad. Just leave me in peace.”

“I’m not lying.” Sarah stole her beer back. “Here, try moving your feet a little more. No, not like that, you’re moving like some kind of machine.”

“I’m pretty sure a Roomba can dance better than I can,” Chuck said. When Sarah rolled her eyes at him and stepped in closer, he nearly tripped over himself trying to step back.

“Chuck, relax. You’re making too big of a deal out of this.”

“I told you I wasn’t a dancer.”

Sarah looked down at their feet, or more specifically, at Chuck’s feet, which had begun moving, almost as if on their own accord. He was actually moving his hips, shuffling from side to side. She lifted her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “And what do you call this?”

He shrugged so that his shoulders went up to his ears. “The beer kicking in?”

“Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” He had good rhythm for a man who claimed to have none whatsoever. But several people had bumped into her—normally not a problem, but if Chuck was going to be at all comfortable dancing, they probably shouldn’t be trying in the middle of a veritable mosh pit. She grabbed Chuck’s wrist and pulled him along behind her, holding the beer aloft so that none of the other crazed dancers doing the running man would slosh beer down the front of her really cute jacket. “C’mon, let’s get away from this crowd.”

When she looked back to make sure Chuck was still there, her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Vance the Boneless and a small crowd of dancers were following them, jumping around to the music.

“Uh, Chuck?” Sarah asked, and pointed.

He twisted to look over his shoulder and nearly tripped her up in the process. When he turned back, he had an odd look on his face. “It’s like a demented Conga line. We have ducklings!”

“What?”

“Duck—never mind. Here’s good. We should dance here.” Chuck startled her—and possibly him—by tugging on her hand hard enough to pull her against him. She might have let out an actual squeak in surprise, though she would deny it later.

Besides, Chuck likely didn’t hear it over the sound of the music anyway.

Once he loosened up, likely thanks to the beer, Chuck actually proved to be a pretty decent dancer. He’d never be truly great, not smooth like Bryce or any of her former partners at the CIA for various dance-related missions, but he was something better: he was fun. When he broke out the “tossing the dice” dance, Sarah couldn’t help herself. She laughed and mirrored him. They probably looked goofy as hell, but she didn’t care.

And why should she? They were surrounded by strangers on what had to be the weirdest thing either of them had encountered on Thanksgiving. If that wasn’t a cue to loosen up and enjoy themselves, she didn’t know what was. So Sarah laughed and pulled out every cheesy dance move she’d seen on the countless nights of doing surveillance at clubs. Chuck rocked the lawn mower. She replied with grocery shopper. He mash potato’d. She vogued. The sprinkler, the white man overbite, even a bad rendition of the moonwalk all made an appearance. Chuck even gave her kind of a resigned shrug and half-smile—and broke out the robot with such skill, she had to figure he’d practiced that one.

Behind him, unseen, Vance and his crew burst into cataclysms of delight and mirrored him perfectly. It was all Sarah could do not to fall over laughing.

The music changed again, from something techno to R&B. Chuck brightened. “I love this song!”

“I’ve never heard it.”

“C’mon, you’ll like it. Like this.” Chuck began to actually jump straight up and down, one hand lifted high over his head. Vance and his buddies needed no prompting whatsoever to mimic him until the entire group around Sarah was jumping like a bunch of sugar-high kids. After a few seconds, she started jumping, too. “I can’t believe they’re playing this!”

“What _is_ it?”

But Chuck had already thrown his head back to shout along with the song. With a laugh, Sarah gave in and jumped along, twisting her hips and obeying along with everybody when the crowd shouted “Shake it like a Polaroid picture!”

Chuck surprised her again by pulling her against him like they were jive dancing. “This song came out right around the time Vi was born,” he said. “I was working nights at the hospital then and it played every couple of hours on the radio!”

He spun her. Sarah let him, laughing.

“One of the patients absolutely _loved_ it. He’d turn it up and try to convince all of us to dance along with him. I never did, but I still know all the—” Chuck broke off and twisted, almost yanking her with him. Vance and his crew abruptly gave them innocent looks and pretended that they hadn’t done every single thing Chuck had done for the past ten minutes. The minute he turned back to face her, the mirroring started again. “How long has that been going on?”

“Um…” Sarah felt the absurd desire to start giggling. She was a world-class spy. She should be able to lie. But she let a giggle escape when she lied, “Not that long?”

Chuck narrowed his eyes at her. Then he heaved a gusty, melodramatic sigh and gestured with both hands at Vance and his crew. The other dancers needed no more prompting than that; they rushed forward. Sarah found herself dancing with Chuck once again, but this time, they were middle of their own little crowd. Sarah danced up against Chuck, took a turn with Vance, spun and was spun alike by strangers. Every time she switched partners, she looked over at Chuck and grinned. He grinned back, albeit a bit uncomfortably because he didn’t seem to know what to do with the three or four women dancing against him. He seemed more flustered by the event than anything else.

Well, if they’d been actively searching for something outside of his wheelhouse, they’d definitely found it.

All around them, the music thrummed, the tempo barely changing from one song to the next. More people flooded in through the warehouse doors. Vance’s posse grew and he introduced them around. Sarah figured the names like, “Dharma” and “Sparkle Kitten” and “Gummy Bear” were probably made up, but “Greg” wasn’t.

When the song changed again for the umpteenth time, Chuck dipped her. She laughed and looped an arm around his neck to keep from landing on her butt. Chuck grinned. “Dance break! Please, save me before I perish from too much dancing.”

“All right, all right, let me up.” Sarah laughed as Chuck pulled her to her feet. She switched her grip to his arm and told herself it was because they didn’t want to get separated in the crush. They waved at Vance to show they were headed to some other part of the warehouse. “Want another drink?”

“No, no, I’ll just get more thirsty and I don’t think they serve water at this place.”

“Probably not, no.” And it really was only a matter of time until the Fire Marshal arrived, Sarah couldn’t help but think. “Oh, hey, free chair!”

Thanks to Chuck’s long legs, they beat a couple of other dancers to the chair. “Here, you take it,” Chuck said, gesturing to Sarah.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“How are you okay? You’re wearing stilettos.”

“My feet are impervious to pain. I can run for miles in these.” Sarah turned her heel just to show off her boots, which she still found to be rather cute. Plus, working with Chuck and Casey, she just simply didn’t like feeling too short. “Take the chair, I’ll be fine.”

“I refuse to believe you’re actually fine with those torture devices strapped to your feet.”

“They’re not—fine. Here, we’ll compromise. Sit down.” Sarah pushed on Chuck’s shoulder until he reluctantly sat. “Now, scoot over.”

“What?”

“You’re skinny enough, we’ll manage.” It was a tight fit to squeeze into the chair next to Chuck, but they managed. It was very, very warm, Sarah discovered immediately. She was already overheated from the dancing and the crush of bodies around them. And Chuck was like a human-sized furnace right next to her, radiating warm like nothing else inside the room. She could smell his aftershave, just a hint of it, under the scent of mass humanity and broken down warehouse.

Her heart sped up a little in the way that had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she’d just been hopping around with a bunch of virtual strangers. Even though she told herself to stop it, she couldn’t seem to push away a dozen traitorous little whisperings at the back of her mind, like the one that pointed out how well-defined Chuck’s thigh felt up against hers, or how nice he smelled, or the fact that while he’d been dancing, that nerdy sex appeal had just shot off the charts.

She told herself to shut up.

She didn’t listen.

“Oh, hey,” Chuck said, and Sarah snapped out of her thoughts. But he was just digging in his pocket for his cell phone. He frowned a little in concentration as he read the display.

“What is it?” Sarah asked, trying very hard not to stare at his face, or worse, his lips. She shook her head, just a small shake, but it did nothing to clear away the sudden fog. Still, she had to focus. “It’s not about Violet, is it?”

“No,” Chuck said, smiling over at her. “It’s Ellie. Some of the doctors and nurses put together a Thanksgiving feast at the hospital, and she wants to know if I’m coming.”

“Well, are you?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’re coming with me or not.”

She knew it wasn’t a good idea. She was a handler, Chuck was an asset, they’d already spent too much time together. Clearly. She was wondering at things she had no right wondering about. Sure, she could blame the heat and the dancing, and she’d likely be fine after just a few minutes of open air. But as an agent, she had a requirement to step back.

“Please?” Chuck asked.

As an agent, she had excellent training on how to keep herself in check. She’d be fine.

“Sure,” Sarah said. “I’ll go with you.”

When the smile spread over Chuck’s face, she entertained one brief thought that her ‘requirement’ to be an agent could wait, just for this one little moment. But then she was too busy grabbing his hand and hauling him back onto the dance floor for one last song before they headed off to Thanksgiving dinner at Westside Medical Center.


	4. A Turkey Dinner with a Little Spice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Among the big birds, turkey was ideal for a fall feast. Turkeys born in the spring would spend about seven months eating insects and worms on the farm, growing to about 10 pounds by Thanksgiving. They were cheaper than geese, which were more difficult to raise, and cheaper by the pound than chickens. Cost was an important factor for holiday shoppers, because people weren’t necessarily preparing just one meal; Thanksgiving was the time to bake meat and other types of pies that could last through the winter. Harriet Beecher Stowe, in_ _Old-Town Folks, described making fruit pies at Thanksgiving “by forties and fifties and hundreds, and made of everything on the earth and under the earth.” (The British once served geese, swans, and even peacocks on special occasions, but they came to prefer turkey after it was first introduced to England in about 1540. Swans, because of their diet, would taste fishy unless they were fed wheat for weeks before slaughter.) — Michelle Tsai, Slate Magazine,_ _Wherefore Turkey?_

“It doesn’t matter that I spent several months mopping these halls or not,” Chuck said, frowning as he turned on his heel in place, staring at the drab, blue hospital walls all around them. “I can never seem to remember how to get anywhere in this place. I swear, hospitals are designed by crazy people.”

“They’ve got signs,” Sarah said. “We could try reading them.”

“Casey’s smart-assedness is rubbing off on you,” Chuck said. “I don’t remember which lounge Ellie says they took over. Hold on, I’ll give her a call. She can give us directions.”

When he lifted his phone to his ear, Sarah had to muffle yet another damning giggle at the sight of the back of his hand. They hadn’t escaped the Techno Turkey Day Dance Party in one piece. Vance and the others, for some reason, had taken a real shine to them, but especially to Chuck. Sarah and Chuck hadn’t been able to leave until they’d promised to friend at least half of the crew on Facebook. To ensure that they wouldn’t be forgotten, Vance and Company had scrawled their names on Sarah and Chuck’s hands.

Sarah didn’t have Facebook and didn’t plan on getting it any time soon. Up until today, she’d had no clue that people had even moved on from Friendster. Chuck had friended all of them on his phone on the way to the hospital.

“Okay,” he said, hanging up now. “They’re in the Windham-Mann Wing, wherever that is. Ellie says she’ll meet us at the reception desk. It’s easier than explaining how to get there from here, apparently.”

“Fine by me. Reception is this way.” Sarah deliberately pointed at the sign with the arrow leading to the reception desk.

“Spending way too much time around Casey,” Chuck said under his breath, but he followed her.

Ellie was already waiting for them at the reception desk when they reached it, probably because Sarah misread a sign and they had to turn around (twice). Chuck was digging his elbow into her ribcage in amusement even as they turned the corner and Ellie hopped up from her seat on the desk, where she’d been talking to the receptionist. “There you are! You made it—and Sarah? You came, too? This is great!”

Both Chuck and Sarah were enveloped in hugs, though Sarah imagined Chuck had just seen his sister hours before.

“Hi, Ellie,” Sarah said, feeling her customary spurt of shyness when dealing with Chuck’s somewhat-formidable older sister. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You may end up hating me.” Ellie, wearing her scrubs and sensible doctor sneakers, turned and headed through the lobby, deeper into the hospital. “Just wait until you see the spread we’ve laid out.”

“Okay, now I’m curious. And a little confused. I thought you guys said you were going to be busy all day?”

“We were supposed to be, but they actually over-scheduled people this year instead of the opposite, so everybody gets a break for dinner.” Sarah had never been at the hospital on Thanksgiving, so she couldn’t be sure if this was a busy or a slow day. They walked by patients’ rooms, and the patients inside either had family visiting or what seemed like Thanksgiving dinners from the hospital kitchen. The walls were decorated with turkeys and pilgrims and other Thanksgiving-y things, but Sarah couldn’t help but think that the decorations in no way covered up the depression and antiseptic.

Perhaps she simply needed to get used to it. Ellie didn’t seem too bothered as she hustled them along.

“Devon had a surgery earlier today, but he managed to get out for dinner,” Ellie went on as they went through a set of double doors. She tapped an empty gurney on the way by, almost an absent habit. “We’re crossing our fingers that he doesn’t get paged, so that we can all enjoy a nice meal. And we’re excited, of course, that you’re here, too, Sarah. I didn’t know you and Chuck were going to spend the day together?”

“It was spontaneous,” Sarah said. “Very spontaneous.”

“Yeah? What’d you do all day?”

“Well, Sarah refused to let me fatass around—”

“You put it as lying around like the ‘spent gods and goddesses we are after eating too much turkey,’ this morning,” Sarah said, pulling a face at him.

Ellie stopped so abruptly that Chuck and Sarah nearly crashed into her, but the brunette started walking again quickly. She gave them both a startled look, though. “Wait, ‘spent’ in what way?”

Sarah and Chuck stared at her. Chuck obviously got it first, he started laughing. “Wow, dirty mind, Sis.”

Sarah finally got it, and felt an actual blush creeping up her cheekbones. “Oh,” she said. “Er…”

“Never mind.” Ellie laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, even inadvertently. So if you didn’t lie around like, uh, spent gods and goddesses, what’d you do?”

“I’m not sure you’d believe us if we told you,” Chuck said.

“Did you watch the parade?”

“And risk disappointing Vi? Of course we did. And then we went up to El Camino Sucio.” Chuck looked over at Ellie’s head and wiggled his eyebrows at Sarah, inspiring her to cough into the back of her hand to avoid laughing yet again. “We made some new friends.”

“Imagine that, you making new friends. Here we are.” Ellie pushed open a door with her shoulder, leading them inside. It was a nurse’s lounge, Sarah saw, just a few tables shoved together in the middle of a smallish room. An entire wall was eaten up by cubby hole shelves, another wall held the fridge and a coffee-making station. It was empty save one sleeping nurse in the corner, and Devon, who reclined in one chair with his feet propped up on another. He had a plate on his lap.

“Chuck! Hey, Sarah, you made it. That’s awesome.” He gave them high-fives without rising, and Sarah saw, for the first time, dark circles under his eyes. Apparently the surgery that morning had wiped him out. It was almost comforting in its own way that Chuck’s honorary brother-in-law wasn’t actually superhuman like the heroes on the TV shows Violet and Chuck watched . “Grab a plate, help yourself to some of the feast.”

The feast appeared to be just like the rest of their day: very strange. There was turkey, but it was sliced turkey in a deli bag, next to a bag of partially stale rolls and some sliced cheese. There were cranberries in the form of Craisins, and instead of green bean casserole, there was a mostly-decimated vegetable platter. A crockpot of chili took the place of mashed potatoes. Pumpkin pie became platters of cookies—or rather, the crumbs and a few scattered pieces of cookies.

“We convinced the others to save you some chili,” Ellie said. “But the cookies and everything are mostly gone. There was cake, but…”

“It’s cake in a hospital. It’s either terrible or it vanishes, I know. I remember,” Chuck said, smiling. He turned to Sarah. “Time to feast?”

“Worst Thanksgiving meal ever, right?” Ellie asked as Sarah and Chuck collected plates and began loading up. “I’m sorry it’s kind of pathetic.”

“No, no, it’s great,” Sarah said. “Believe it or not, it’s not even the weirdest Thanksgiving meal we’ve had today.”

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Two words,” Chuck said. “Carny festival.”

“What? Are you making this up?”

“No, he’s telling the truth.” Sarah gingerly sat next to Devon, glancing over as the nurse in the corner let out a snort in his sleep. “We met a family of Romani up at El Camino Sucio. They invited us to share a meal with them.”

“You ate carny food?” Ellie asked, looking fascinated.

“And it was delicious,” Chuck said.

“Awesome!” was Devon’s contribution. “What’d it taste like?”

“Lots of garlic. And salt. Salty, garlicky, and I think I caught a little hint of cinnamon in the tubers, but I could be wrong.” Chuck dug into the food with a gusto, and Sarah realized that her own stomach was practically growling. Dancing at the Techno Turkey Day had eaten up most of her reserves. “So how’ve things been here? Quiet?”

“We had a rush earlier today, just after noon. A whole bunch of people tried to deep-fry turkeys. Our burn ward’s pretty full still.”

“Oh, ouch. Turkey burn.” Chuck winced. “It’s definitely not for the faint of heart.”

“Weren’t you telling me Morgan tried to deep-fry a turkey once?” Sarah asked, vaguely recalling one of the many stories Chuck had told her in the car that day.

“Exactly my point. Morgan is many things, but faint of heart is not one of them. I hope nobody was too seriously hurt.”

“Some were. But,” Devon said, perking up a little, “I performed a successful double bypass, and it’s early yet, but it looks like dude’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s excellent news, Devon,” Sarah said.

“What about you? Talked to Vi at all? How’s she doing out on the yacht?”

“I talked to her this morning. I’m waiting for her to call any minute now, actually. If only so that she can tell me what she drew today.” Chuck pulled his cell phone out. Sarah leaned over to get a better look, and barely managed to hide her frown. His lock screen was from Violet’s fifth birthday party, when he’d insisted that Sarah crouch down next to Violet and her cake so that he could get a picture.

She knew it was for cover purposes since Ellie and Devon didn’t know she was a spy, but it still made her more than a little uncomfortable.

“Here, there’s a picture of Pete,” Chuck said, handing his phone over to Ellie.

“Who’s Pete?”

“Carny leader. Really nice guy. That’s his wife Colleen, and his son, Bradley.”

“Oh, was that his name?” Sarah asked, thinking of the boy who’d smirked so broadly, he’d tipped her off to the fact that the rifles had been rigged. “Pete kept introducing everybody, but I didn’t catch his name.”

“He seemed to be a big fan of _you_ ,” Chuck said.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Yeah, Chuck,” Ellie said, “what do you mean by that?”

Chuck, faced with two deadpan stares, gulped a little. “I mean,” he said slowly, “that he kept staring at her and smirking the whole time we were there. It was a little odd. You didn’t notice?”

“Oh, I noticed.” Sarah grinned, bright and sarcastic now, like the grin Chuck usually gave her when he particularly didn’t want to do something spy-related. “That’s how I knew that the gun sight was rigged.”

“Oh, I se—wait, what? The rifle was rigged?”

“Rifle?” Devon and Ellie both echoed. Ellie went on, “You were shooting _guns_?”

“Toy guns, sis. Toy guns. And this one here won, but only because she _cheated_.” Chuck glowered. “When we get home, we’re firing up the Super Nintendo and I’m challenging you to a good old _Duck_ _Hunt_ rematch.”

“Don’t do it,” Ellie told Sarah. “The minute he starts getting you to play video games, it’s all over.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be playing video games any time soon,” Sarah said. She took her first bite of chili, and steam nearly shot out of her ears. It took some difficulty, but she swallowed. The chili burned all the way down like napalm. “Uh, is there anything—wow, that’s hot—is there anything to drink? Sorry, it’s just that this is—ah, ow—really hot.”

“Oh, my God, I can’t believe I forgot.” Ellie sprang to her feet and hurried around Sarah and Chuck to the room’s refrigerator. She pulled out something that looked like a champagne bottle. “I’ve had my nurse friend guarding this all day in case Chuck did manage to come by, and I can’t believe I forgot it until now.”

“Hey, babe, we’re on call. Should we really be drinking?”

“It’s sparkling grape juice. No alcohol, I promise. Want some? Sarah? Chuck?”

“Yes, please,” Sarah, who was just starting to get feeling back in her tongue, said. When Ellie handed her a paper cup full of sparkling grape juice, she took a long gulp to cool her throat. “Whoa. That was _hot_.”

“Aw, Sarah, don’t tell me you’re a chili wimp,” Chuck said.

Sarah just waited until he took a bite. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows high, when he fanned at his mouth with his hands and gulped down half of his own glass.

“Who’s the wimp now?” she asked.

“My—” Chuck coughed and hit his chest with the side of his fist, his eyes streaming. “My apologies. Wow, Ellie, who made that chili? Beelzebub?”

“John Ramone, one of the day shift nurses. He’s kind of famous for his habanera peppers.”

“No kidding. A little warning next time?”

“If you’re not going to finish that,” Devon said, sitting up, “can I have it?”

Sarah wasted no time shoving it over to him. She rose to go make herself and Chuck a couple of sandwiches while Chuck coughed and recovered from the fact that he probably no longer had an esophagus to speak of. “Despite the fact that I don’t have any taste buds left,” he said, “that was a really good bite of chili. My regards to John Ramone the day nurse.”

“I’ll let him know you approve,” Ellie said. “Again, Sarah, I’m sorry we’re subjecting you to such a pathetic meal.”

“No, no, this is great. It beats sitting at home and heating up canned soup any day.”

“Where’s your brother today? You two don’t celebrate Thanksgiving together?”

“He’s not much for the holidays in general,” Sarah said, which wasn’t a lie. After all, by her estimation, Casey had likely spent the entire day at the gun range. And hearing Marine juggernaut and NSA Agent John Casey referred to as her brother would never sit well with her.

Casey liked it even less than she did, so that was something.

“I was actually grateful,” she said, “that Chuck came over. I really didn’t have anything planned but, you know, watching old movies or something.”

“And none of those could possibly top carnies,” Chuck said.

“Never.”

“Well, what are you doing for Christmas?” Ellie asked, and Sarah’s head snapped up. “You and your brother are welcome to come over and celebrate with us, if you don’t have anything planned. We don’t do a big thing. Just a small family gathering. The three of us—”

“And Morgan,” Chuck said.

“With Vi. You guys should come over, have Christmas dinner with us. And, you know, stay for the Twilight Zone marathon. Or you don’t have to do that, if that will scare you off dating my brother. I totally understand.”

“I…” Now outright flustered and trying to hide it, Sarah focused on the finishing touches of the sandwich. “I wouldn’t want to intrude, I know it’s a family thing.”

“Nonsense. The more, the merrier. Plus, there’s something about Christmas that’s just better with a small child around. Something about the way they rip into presents.”

“And give you an excuse you rip into yours, too,” Devon said. “It’s awesome. You guys should totally come. Right, Chuck?”

Sarah looked up to meet Chuck’s gaze. He didn’t have that look on his face, the one that came up whenever it became obvious that she was the handler and he was the asset. Instead, he was regarding her, somewhere between serious and smiling. “Right,” he said.

Her heart fluttered like the traitor it was.

“All right,” she said, and had to look away from Chuck. She focused on putting the sandwiches onto plates and bringing them over to the table. “I’ll have to talk to Cas—my brother, though. I don’t know what he’s planning to do.”

“Probably growl and clean his gun collection,” Chuck muttered under his breath.

That sounded like Casey, but Sarah wasn’t going to admit that. So she smiled and pretended she hadn’t heard Chuck. “But even if he can’t make it, I’ll be there.”

“Awes—oh.” Devon stopped in mid-high-five to check the phone attached to his waistband. “Looks like there’s an angioplasty calling my name. Sorry to cut out on you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Happy Thanksgiving, Devon.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.” And Devon left after collecting his bag and giving Ellie a quick kiss on the top of the head.

“I’m kind of amazed he got to stay that long,” Ellie said. “They overbooked the regular practitioners, but a couple of the surgeons had family things. Oh, well, I guess it doesn’t matter because we still have Christmas off. And we could do a big meal next week, if we really wanted to. When Vi’s back.”

“Sounds good,” Chuck said around a bite of sandwich.

“So you two really hung out around carnies? All day?”

“Well, the parts where we weren’t dancing with a guy named Vance and his merry band of renegades, sure.”

“What?”

But this time, it was Chuck’s phone that rang. He looked at the display and then at his cover girlfriend and his sister. “I think it’s Vi. You don’t mind if I…?”

“Go ahead. I’ll just subtly grill Sarah about you while you were gone.”

Even though Ellie smiled to let Sarah know she was teasing, Sarah suddenly felt like prey. But Chuck was already on his way out of the lounge to answer the phone.

The minute he was gone, Ellie raised both eyebrows. “Vance? Merry band of renegades? Is my brother spinning tales for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know if I’d call them a merry band of renegades, myself, but we did dance with a guy named Vance.” Sarah dug in her pocket and pulled out the folded-up flyer from the parking lot of the Techno Turkey Day Dance Party. “We were driving around and we found this.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I swear, I’m not. So we went inside to check it out and…well, the crowd was dancing, so we did the same thing.”

“You got my brother to dance,” Ellie said, sounding mystified.

“I did. He’s actually pretty good.” Once, Sarah added silently, you get a beer in him. Or two.

“You got my brother to dance. In public?”

“There were other dancers around, yes. In fact, the group that Chuck mentioned? Vance and his, ah, renegades? I don’t know why, but they took a real shine to Chuck and for most of it, they were dancing behind him, copying. Chuck had no idea for the longest time.”

Ellie broke into giggles at that. “Oh, my God,” she said, handing the flyer back. “I don’t know whether or not I believe you, but that’s great!”

“Weirdest Thanksgiving ever,” Sarah said emphatically. “Between the carnies and the techno music and some of the truly strange people we met today. But it was fun. We had a good time.”

“I’m glad. I’m still reeling over the fact that you got my brother to dance, in public, with a woman.”

“He had two or three dancing on him by the end.”

“Oh, my God. Please tell me you have picture evidence.”

“I wish.”

The conversation fell silent. Ellie continued to giggle, a new burst of laughter coming from her every time she obviously thought of something new about Chuck dancing. And Sarah did have to admit, it was pretty funny. Chuck had been so anxious and so fish-out-of-water during the dance that to see him relaxing and enjoying himself at the Techno Turkey Day Dance Party had been eye-opening and kind of amazing.

“Thank you,” Ellie said out of the blue, and Sarah blinked.

“Er, for what?”

“Can I be honest with you, just for a minute, while he’s not here?” Ellie jerked her head at the door to indicate Chuck, who still hadn’t come back.

Please don’t, Sarah wanted to say, but instead she nodded.

“I was worried about him earlier, when Sophie said she wanted to take Vi out on the yacht for Thanksgiving, and then Devon and I got called in to work. Our parents split when we were both young, so holidays always meant more to us, I guess, than most. And for Chuck to be alone was killing me all day.”

Here was the part where she was supposed to say something, Sarah realized. But she had no idea what. Her mind had gone blank. “Ah,” she said. “I think, even if he’d been alone, he would have been okay?”

It was more of a guess than a statement, but Ellie still nodded. Whew, Sarah thought, one obstacle down.

“Yeah, he’s resilient, he would have been fine. And he’s got his video games. But I’m glad he had somebody to spend the holiday with, and even more, I’m glad it’s you.”

Oh, God, this conversation had gone from minefield to active war zone. Sarah hoped her glance at the exit sign wasn’t too obvious.

“Ellie…” Sarah said, though she had no idea what to say next.

Ellie saved her by barreling onwards, though she wasn’t exactly sure that was saving much. “And for more than that, really. Chuck…ever since Vi was born, he’s been so serious. At times, I feel like I’m the younger sister because he just seems so _old_. And trust me, that’s an odd feeling when I practically raised him. Mom took off early and while Dad was around, he wasn’t…really there, you know?”

Unfortunately, Sarah knew that all too well.

“And then with Sophie getting pregnant, and Jill coming back to mess with his head a second time—”

“Wait, what?” Sarah asked.

Ellie’s eyes immediately went wide. “He didn’t tell you about Jill?”

“He told me that she slept with his best friend in college.” Which was a bitchy move, in Sarah’s opinion. Why on earth would you mess around when you had a guy like Chuck?

“Oh. _Oh_. Um, maybe I should let Chuck tell you the story, then. Just, there’s more to it than that. Sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t aware.” Ellie actually flushed bright red and looked down at the crumbs left on her plate. Even though Sarah was now dying to know, she figured Ellie wasn’t going to break Chuck’s confidence and tell her. Damn. She’d have to get the story out of Chuck somehow. “But anyway, like I was saying, they really did a number on him, and he’s been so old and kind of reserved ever since. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s a great dad.”

“He is.” On that, Sarah could agree a thousand times or more.

“But it’s like he’s in his late thirties or something. So it’s nice to see him just go out and have fun like somebody his own age. We haven’t seen him do that since you came around, so really, thank you.”

“Ellie, there’s no need to thank me. I like Chuck. I think he’s a great guy.”

“That’s what I keep telling everybody, but they say I’m biased.”

“So what?” Sarah said, laughing a little. She deliberately forced her tensed muscles to relax, and her hand to stop gripping the sandwich so tightly that she was crushing it. “Just because you’re biased doesn’t mean it’s not the truth.”

“Exactly. So, hey, while I’m thinking about it and you’re here, I wanted to invite you to a girls’ night.”

Every relaxed muscle immediately tensed. “A what?”

“Vi and I try to have them every once in a while. Don’t worry, nothing like going out to the spa or anything. It’s just kicking the guys out of the house and watching girly movies.”

“I…” Where the hell was Chuck? “That sounds fun, but my schedule can get pretty crazy. Why don’t you call me next time and I’ll see if I’m available?”

The excuse sounded lame even to her ears. Chuck might have called her out on it—if he was feeling bold—but, of all things, a sympathetic smile overtook Ellie’s face. “Still getting used to dating a guy with a kid, huh?”

“You can tell?” Sarah released out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in a long _whoosh_. The rest of her brain caught up with her. “And you’re not judging me?”

Ellie let out an actual snort. “Are you kidding? I can’t even imagine what it would be like if Devon had had kids when I met him. I might have run for the hills and never looked back. Which is why I’m glad you’re still around.”

“I am, too. Violet’s wonderful.” Sarah chewed her bottom lip. “But…”

“You’re not ready to be a mom. I know. I get it. Just, you know, if you can come to one of the girls’ nights, that would be great. You don’t even have to adopt Vi to do so.” Ellie held off for a lengthy pause, her eyes sparkling with fun. “Yet.”

The blood drained out of Sarah’s face so fast she actually felt light-headed. Ellie dropped all pretenses and cracked up.

“That’s it,” Sarah said, giving her cover boyfriend’s sister a sour look. “I’m going to go find Chuck and get him to save me from having to sign adoption papers.”

Ellie was still laughing when Sarah let herself out of the lounge. She stopped outside the door for a second, looking left and right. She’d expected Chuck to be right outside, leaning up against the wall, probably laughing as he talked to his daughter. He was nowhere in sight. Nor did she hear his voice coming from anywhere.

Maybe he’d wandered, or had gone to find a vending machine. The sparkling grape juice had been kind of disgusting. Curious now, Sarah turned left and wandered on. She’d spotted vending machines that way earlier on their trip to the lounge. It was possible Chuck had remembered them, too.

And apparently he had. He was standing in front of them, his back to her, but he wasn’t moving to get one of those sugary sodas, or worse, the Red Bull. Instead, he was absolutely still in a way that tipped her off. Something was wrong.

“Chuck?” Sarah called, approaching cautiously. “What is it?”

He turned, his eyebrows lowering in confusion. “How did you…”

“Spy. Body language. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Chuck ran his hands down his face and sighed. “I just…I have go down to San Diego. It’s not really all that surprising, given the way things normally are, actually.”

“What? Is Vi okay? Did she get seasick?”

“No, no, she’s fine. Sophie…Sophie’s just being Sophie again. Damn it.” He hit the vending machine with the side of his fist, not hard enough to break the plastic, but hard enough to make Sarah jump in surprise. Chuck wasn’t ever the type to get violent. He was too controlled for that. “She got a part.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Some role of a lifetime, career breaking wide open, yadda yadda yadda.” Chuck turned so that his back rested against the vending machine, his arms crossing over his chest. “It’s probably just a cameo, and it’ll go nowhere, but whatever. They need her in New York tomorrow and since the paps caught wind, she can’t go anywhere with Vi.”

“Oh.” Anger, mystifying in its intensity, began to spread through Sarah. She kept her face neutral for Chuck’s sake. “She couldn’t turn it down?”

“It’s Sophie, why would she want to?”

“But she doesn’t see Violet very often.”

“I know.”

“And she’s the one that wanted this weekend.”

“I know.” Chuck’s scowl deepened. “And now she’s going to disappoint my daughter yet again, and I’ll have to be the one picking up the pieces. Damn it. I knew this day was going too well.”

So she hadn’t been the only one feeling that way. It was probably a depressing statement on their lives, Sarah thought, but she didn’t comment. “How’s Violet handling it?”

“As far as I can tell, she doesn’t know. I think she’s already asleep. I’d better go see if Ellie will let me borrow her car, I need to get down there as soon as possible. Thanks for driving today, and for being a sport about the carnies and everything.”

“Wait, what?” Sarah gave him a puzzled look. “I’m coming with you.”

“What? No, Sarah, you don’t have to do that. It’s a long and boring drive, and it’s not your responsibility. You should be at home relaxing.”

“It’s kind of my job,” Sarah said. “I can’t let you go as far as San Diego by yourself.”

“But I just did that yesterday.”

“Followed by Casey.”

“Oh.” Chuck frowned. “I thought you guys were being a little too lenient at the time. That makes sense.”

“And I’d go anyway,” Sarah said. “It’s a long and boring drive. You could use some company.”

“I could.” Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets, a line appearing between his eyebrows as he obviously thought something over. “Would it be okay for you to switch cars with Ellie? It’s half an hour out of our way to get my car, and yours doesn’t have a backseat. Or a car-seat for Vi, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“It’s fine, as long as Ellie doesn’t mind.”

“All right. Then let’s get this show on the road.”


	5. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The first recorded road trip was attested in stele in the court of Ramses II. He was said to “come down on the Medeans in his chariot after driving all night from Memphis.”_

The car was quiet. Chuck had insisted on driving, so there was music playing, but he seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to provide any conversation, and Sarah was content to let the silence go on. It gave her time to reflect on just how bizarre, absurd, and odd her day had been—and she was a spy for the U.S. government. She regularly received mission orders that self-destructed and had to steal things from bad guys. She highly doubted any of the enemies she’d faced were as strange as Pete or Vance.

They’d borrowed Ellie’s car (after she’d made a few token complaints in the vein of, “Oh, great, Sophie’s struck again”), so it felt odd to be sitting in the passenger seat of a strange vehicle, headed for San Diego long after the sun had set. She leaned her head back against the headrest and stared out to the right of the car, where she knew from past experience that the Pacific stretched out, all inky black in its expanse. Signs for San Diego and other parts of California, all Spanish names, of course, passed by overhead.

She thought about her father, and how San Diego was where it had all caught up to him. She thought about the horrible high school she’d gone to while pretending to be Jenny Burton, she of the awkward braces and violin case. Was there some kind of parallel to be found there? It seemed like the source of Chuck’s disappointment rested there, as did the death of Jenny Burton. From the ashes of Jenny Burton, Sarah Walker had arisen, after all.

And maybe Chuck would have preferred Jenny Burton to Sarah Walker, anyway.

Sarah shook her head, bringing her wandering thoughts back to reality. What on earth was she doing, thinking about this sort of thing? Why did it matter if Chuck would like Jenny Burton more? Jenny Burton was a construct, a character created by her father and her to fool the people of the world so that he could scam people out of money.

She was no more real than Sarah Walker, super-spy, internationally globetrotting espionage agent, was.

“What’s on your mind?” Chuck asked. He’d obviously seen her shake her head.

She turned, her head still back against the headrest, to look at him. He looked tired. Understandably so: they’d had a full day. But Sophie’s decision to abandon Violet on their weekend together made him seem like the world-weary Chuck she’d seen that first night, the night they’d saved General Stanfield and the rest of the people at the Millennium Hotel.

“Pete said they’re there all weekend, didn’t he?” she asked, surprising herself with the completely random question.

“Yeah. Why? You didn’t want to go back, did you? Did you like the cinnamon tubers that much?”

“The salt and the garlic more, probably.”

“Proof that Sarah Walker isn’t a vampire,” Chuck said, his lips curling up at the corners.

Sarah tilted her head, wondering why on earth she would possibly be considered a vampire. In the end, it would probably make her look like a pop culture idiot to even ask, so she let that one fall to the wayside. “No, I was thinking maybe you could take Violet up there. The arcade might be open tomorrow, and she’d get a kick out of playing some of the games with Pete and the others.”

“Maybe. Then I could get a true rematch, no _Duck_ _Hunt_ involved.”

She hadn’t meant to imply that she would accompany them, but if it put that smile on Chuck’s face, maybe it was for the best that she didn’t say anything.

“You were a pretty good shot with even the rifle rigged,” she said. “And look at it this way, you get to make Violet those awesome pancakes tomorrow.”

“Oh, good point. Gonna come over for those?”

“Are you kidding? With all of the random stuff we ate today, I’m going jogging for miles tomorrow.” Sarah stretched out her legs. One good thing about taking Ellie’s car down to San Diego was the legroom, which her Porsche unfortunately did not provide. She looked in the backseat, where the pink bunny she’d won from the carnies sat in Violet’s booster seat. “That’s assuming that I don’t sleep all day.”

“Not going to hit up the Buy More on Black Friday?”

“I’ll leave that insanity to you.”

“Nah, I’ve got pull with the assistant manager. He’s got my TV all set aside for me.”

“You’re getting a new TV? What’s wrong with the one you’ve already got?”

“Ellie convinced me to put a bed in my office. I need a TV to go with the bed. Duh.” Chuck grinned. “And a new gaming system, but I’ll wait for the after-Christmas sales for that one.”

“Prudent,” Sarah said, looking forward again. She was grateful she’d come along because the traffic outside of the carpool lane looked absolutely miserable. Not that it was much less abysmal inside the carpool lane. But they could crawl toward San Diego together. “So what’s the great Violet Bartowski scoring for Christmas this year from Black Friday?”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas,” Chuck said, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. He stretched his arms out toward the steering wheel, one at a time. “I wasn’t sure about the big gift. I wasn’t even sure she really needed a big gift, but with Sophie pulling these kinds of stunts…”

He shrugged and stared forward, probably seeing more than the taillights ahead of them.

Sarah let the silence go for a few minutes, until she couldn’t keep her thoughts inside anymore. Maybe it was that things were either far too uncomfortable, or worse, too comfortable, in the pauses between their words. Or maybe it was some remnant of her musings on Jenny Burton making itself known. “Don’t,” she said.

Chuck gave her a surprised look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t…you can’t replace a person with gifts.” Now it was her turn to squirm, though it wasn’t out of a need to stretch. Chuck was looking at her, his eyebrows low. It wasn’t an angry look, more puzzled than anything. “Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“What experience is that?”

“I…I don’t really want to talk about it. Just, the gifts won’t fill the hole. Trust me on that.”

Chuck sighed. “I know. It just _sucks_. She’s getting older and it’s starting to matter more because she doesn’t forget about it as easily, you know? I can’t just distract her with a rattle or silly faces. I don’t know what more I can do.”

“I think you’re doing everything you can. Trust me, Chuck, Violet’s luckier than a lot of kids. She has you.”

“Some days, I wish that were enough,” Chuck said.

Sarah personally thought it was, but she had already reached the maximum level of discomfort her body and mind could physically handle. So she crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to feel self-conscious. Super-spy Sarah Walker on a trip to San Diego to collect a small child and giving parenting advice.

She’d be more confused and scared by all of this, she had to admit, if it weren’t happening with frightening regularity lately.

“Thanks,” Chuck said quietly.

Sarah jerked a shoulder. “I meant it.”

“I know. Which is why…just thanks.”

Sarah didn’t reply, and they lapsed into silence. She let the miles crawl by, wrapped up in her own thoughts as Chuck no doubt was beside her, and desperately wishing she could think any something, anything else but the man beside her and his soon-to-be-heartbroken daughter.

\- O -

About twenty minutes from San Diego, Chuck cleared his throat and tapped the dashboard just above the clock. “Rate we’re going, we’re going to beat Sophie and the yacht to the dockyard.”

“That’ll give us time to do some recon and surveillance.”

“Or we could get coffee.”

“Getting tired? Are you okay to drive?”

“I’m fine. I could just use some coffee.”

Sarah twisted in her seat, scanning the fast food signs all around the freeway. “Looks like there’s an exit coming up and, oh, I see it. There’s a Starbucks.”

“Think it’ll be open?”

“It’s Thanksgiving in Southern California. Nothing actually seems to have shut down.”

“Point.” Chuck pulled out of the carpool lane and began nudging across lanes of traffic to get to the exit. “This was and is a very filling Thanksgiving. All of that food the carnies forced on us, the meal at the hospital, the beers, and now my usual from Starbucks. Maybe I should go running with you tomorrow.”

“Okay. I start at six a.m.”

“And maybe I could stand to gain a couple of pounds,” Chuck said without missing a beat.

“Also, you forgot the pancakes.”

“Man, how could I do that? Those pancakes were awesome.”

Their coffees were still steaming when Chuck pulled into the dockyard, waving at the security guard who’d obviously been told to wait for them. There were far fewer streetlamps here, casting the whole area in late night gloom. To their right, ships bobbed like ghosts on the water.

“It feels a bit like we’re on a spy mission right now instead of just picking up Vi,” Chuck said. “The _Mission Impossible_ theme should be playing. Your mission, should you choose to accept it…”

He looked over at Sarah, who gave him a puzzled look in return.

“You’re the spy. You’re supposed to give the mission briefing.”

“I am?”

“Oh, c’mon, play along.”

“Fine,” Sarah said, resettling into her seat. They drove past abandoned docks, which felt eerie and almost ghostlike in this empty part of town. If it weren’t for the security guard that had let them in, Sarah would have been much more on edge. “Uh…”

“It starts, ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it.’“

“‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it,’“ Sarah repeated, giving him a sour look, “is to pick up your daughter without being compromised or recorded. Okay, go.”

“Needs work.”

“Like what? I gave you your mission objectives.”

“But no parameters. What happens if I don’t pick up said daughter—who should really be called the package if you want to play the faux-spy game? What happens then? Does a bomb go off in Portugal? Dangerous gas get released in Taiwan?”

“Coffee gets poured in your lap.”

“Oh. Ouch. Okay, I don’t want to play faux-spy anymore.”

Sarah closed her eyes for just a second. “Sorry,” she said.

“I guess when you’re a real spy, it’s probably not fun to play faux-spy.”

“No, it’s just…” Sarah looked out at the docks, at the ships swaying gently. To the left of the car, a huge wall of shipping containers rose, blocking their view of San Diego. There were buildings and sheds interspersed throughout the whole dockyard, providing ample places for an enemy and for a photographer to hide. Though right now, the two were one and the same. Chuck might dislike Sophie’s staunch stance of never being near a camera with her daughter, but the CIA and NSA appreciated the fact that the child of their greatest secret wasn’t being flaunted on the tabloids day in and day out.

So in that case, and that case only, Sarah considered Sophie an ally. Though she’d never tell Chuck that.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” she lied now. “What time did she say they’d be coming in?”

“That’s them.” Chuck put the car in park and nodded out at the last dock, a couple hundred yards away. “Want to wait in the car? I wouldn’t blame you.”

Every instinct screamed that she _should_ wait in the car. But that would ultimately be the cowardly thing to do, and it was better for their cover if Sarah went along. So she bit the bullet. “No, I could use the walk. You know. Stretch my legs.”

Sophie’s yacht was a pretty impressive size, making Sarah wonder just how much the TV show paid her. Or maybe it had been one of the increasingly-large movie roles in the past year that had paid for it. Either way, it was kind of the perfect getaway with a secret child you didn’t want anybody to know you had. It was moored along a wooden pier, quite a walk from the concrete shore of the dockyard. As they approached, Chuck holding onto Sarah’s hand—to sell the cover—the front lights on the yacht flashed twice.

“That’s her signal,” Chuck said. “Means it’s safe to come aboard. She’s scouted the area for telephoto lenses.”

Thoughtful of her, Sarah thought, but didn’t say anything. She followed Chuck across a gangplank and to the deck and then below decks, gauging details with her dispassionate spy training. She also noticed that the tension along Chuck’s neck and back grew with every step. He’d been putting up a cheerful front in the car, but she could practically feel his anger doubling right beside her.

Last chance to run, she thought as Chuck pushed open the door to the main cabin. Sarah followed him in.

Sophie Marston was waiting for them in the galley just off the main cabin. It took Sarah a second to recognize her without the ball-cap and sunglasses she’d always worn whenever picking up Violet. There was no denying that Sophie was stunningly beautiful, even in a pair of pink sweatpants and a baby-doll T-shirt for a sports team that Sarah was sure didn’t exist, as no self-respecting football team would allow a pink and white kitten to adorn their jerseys. As ever, she seemed absurdly short next to Chuck and Sarah, but her blonde tresses were perfect. “Chuck,” she said in greeting, and then blinked, obviously taken aback at the sight of Sarah. “And Sarah. Oh. Hi.”

“Where is she?” Chuck didn’t look directly at Sophie, a sign Sarah had learned early on that meant he was pissed and not trying to hide it.

“She’s, um, back in the other cabin, sleeping. I thought I’d let her sleep until you got here and…” Sophie trailed off as Chuck shouldered past her without a word, leaving the two women in the galley together.

“I—so you two are still together?” Sophie asked, looking quizzically at Sarah. She seemed downright puzzled by this, as if it made no sense to her whatsoever. “That’s good news.”

“How was your day?” Sarah asked. “Did Violet have a good time?”

“Yeah, she, yeah, we had a good day. Played games and…” Sophie trailed off. For a split-second, she looked downright miserable, perhaps amplifying the same awkwardness that Sarah felt. “It was a good day. How…how was your day? Did you and Chuck do the family thing or…?”

“Oh, you know,” Sarah said, and didn’t expand. The galley was pretty, she noticed. It looked like Sophie had gotten a professional interior decorator to come and deck out her boat. The boat couldn’t have been more different from the Bartowskis’ homey decorating or the Spy Casa’s bland décor if it had tried. She nodded to a small painting of pears above the galley’s nailed-in table. “I like your painting here.”

“Oh. Thanks. I got that from a street vendor in New York.”

“It’s nice.”

“Mm-hmm. Crazy weather we’re having.”

“Really? It seemed kind of nice to me.”

“Oh. Right.”

It took everything Sarah had not to let out an audible sigh of relief when Chuck came back into the galley, holding onto Violet. She was wearing pajamas since it was after ten at night, and her winter jacket, her feet stuffed into tiny Uggs. Chuck must have just gotten her dressed in the winter clothing, but the five-year-old was completely conked out with her cheek pushed hard into his shoulder.

“Sarah, could I ask you a huge favor?”

“Sure,” Sarah said warily, already on her guard. “What?”

“Could you take Vi out to the car? I need to talk to Sophie. I’ll be just a minute, I swear.”

“It’s fine.” She was getting better about not panicking about spending time alone with Violet, after all. The fact that she’d had to watch Violet twice while Casey took Chuck on surveillance missions helped with that. But it didn’t stop the flutter of nerves from overtaking her stomach.

Transferring a sleeping five-year-old between them was easier than she’d thought it would be, especially since Violet didn’t even seem to notice. She just snuggled into Sarah’s shoulder the way she’d curled against Chuck’s. Wary now, Sarah started to turn and head back toward the car, but Sophie was suddenly there, regarding her daughter with a serious look.

“Bye, Violet,” she said, stroking a hand down the messy tangle of curls. There was a look on her face that Sarah couldn’t quite decipher. Sadness, she picked up easily, and the guilt surprised her, but there was something more than that to it. Before Sarah could even begin to figure out what it might be, Sophie stepped back to let Sarah take Violet to the car.

She’d humped gear over miles in the desert before, so she didn’t have too much of a problem hauling a five-year-old a couple hundred yards, even if Violet was tall for her age. Sarah blamed it on the day, the fullness of it, that she was even tired by the time she reached the car—and realized that Chuck still had the keys. And he had locked it.

Well, he’d said it would only take a moment to talk to Sophie. With a shrug of her free shoulder, Sarah found a bench not too far from the car, where she would see Chuck approaching. She sat, shifting Violet so that the girl was curled up in her lap.

This movement, though, made Violet stir. Sarah winced and stroked Violet’s hair just like Sophie had. Please, she thought, please stay asleep.

Violet Bartowski did not read minds. “Telly?” she mumbled against Sarah’s shoulder.

It took Sarah a few seconds to realize that “Telly” was “Aunt Ellie” combined into one word. “No, ah, sweetie. It’s just me.” She bit her tongue before she could apologize for that, the very first time in her life she ever considered apologizing for being Sarah Walker.

Violet shifted, her eyes blinking open just a crack. “Sarah?” she asked, not lifting her head from Sarah’s shoulder. “S’that you?”

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay.” Violet, it seemed, needed no other encouragement than that. But just when Sarah might have thought about starting to relax, the girl shifted so that she was hugging close to Sarah, with her arms wrapped around her neck. “Missed you.”

Sarah’s mind went absolutely blank. “Ah. Uh.”

It took several seconds before Sarah realized she had tensed up much stronger than anything during her conversation with Ellie Bartowski earlier that evening, and that Violet had fallen back asleep. She relaxed her muscles and leaned back against the bench. Other sensations began to creep in. Violet was warm, she realized, a steady warmth curled against her, and it felt nice. Maybe it was just the human contact. Maybe it was that it was a little chilly at the dockyard.

Actually, it _was_ a little chilly at the dockyard. Sarah frowned over that and pulled her jacket so that it was partially covering Violet, too. She really didn’t want the girl to catch a cold.

Violet snuggled closer. With a small shrug to herself, Sarah rubbed the girl’s back and watched the pier and Sophie’s yacht for any sign of Chuck. What was taking him and Sophie so long? With a small shrug to herself that she hoped didn’t upset the sleeping five-year-old in her lap, she settled back to wait. It was a full five minutes before Chuck emerged and even when he approached, she didn’t stand. She was too warm and comfortable for that.

“Wow,” Chuck said as he neared them. He had Violet’s purple and pink backpack, looking absurdly tiny on his lanky frame, over one shoulder, and Bun-Bun in one hand.

“What?”

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

“That somebody would willingly fall asleep around me? What?”

“No, that I’d see Sarah Walker humming.”

Sarah barely stopped herself from jolting hard enough to wake Violet. “What are you—” She broke off just as the realization hit her: she _had_ been humming, sort of absently. She had no idea where that came from. She didn’t hum recreationally. Hell, she barely listened to music. To prove it, she had no idea what song she had even been humming at all.

“And _Hey Ya!_ too,” Chuck said. “Guess you really liked that song. Why’re you guys sitting out here?”

“Car’s locked. Everything okay?”

Chuck shrugged and didn’t meet her gaze. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Here, let’s get in the car and get the heater going. It’s freezing out here.”

“I’ll let you take this,” Sarah said, transferring Violet back to him. “You’ve got more experience than I do in that department. I’ll take first shift driving.”

“Fine by me.” It took them a few minutes to get situated and in the car again. Sarah started the engine, turning the heater on full blast. When she checked the rearview mirror, she paused. “That’s not Bun-Bun.”

Chuck looked back at his daughter and the stuffed animal she was strangling in her sleep. “She seemed to want the bunny. We’ll definitely have to give him a name, and soon.”

“Not Platty or Puss?”

“Too obvious.”

“Vance, then.”

“Fitting, considering the day we’ve had. I’ll mention it to her tomorrow.”

Sarah drove them out of the dockyard, where the guard was waiting at the gate to let them through once more. Apparently they’d survived unscathed, not a single camera lens in sight. Sarah took a mental note of the dockyard’s layout, as it might be a good place to stash something later on if one of their missions went bad. She made the turn that would take them towards the freeway, only sneaking one or two glances at Chuck the whole time.

He didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he seem to want to change his mind and talk about what had gone on between Sophie and him. That was all right by her. Some things about Chuck’s life should remain private, no matter how hard the government wanted Sarah and Casey to push their noses into things. It hurt that he was hurting, but he didn’t want to talk about it and she didn’t know what to say.

So she let the silence stretch. Violet occasionally let out a wheeze in her sleep, Chuck occasionally sighed, and Sarah drove on.

“Hey, Sarah?” Chuck asked.

Sarah prayed that he wasn’t going to thank her again. She’d been thanked enough that day. She didn’t know how many more of these heartfelt, Bartowski-emotional-driven moments she was going to be able to take. “Yeah, Chuck?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Sarah turned to look at him. The smile spread slowly between them. “Happy Thanksgiving, Chuck.”

### The End


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